More
by fingernailcoloredwalls
Summary: Paul wanted more of the rush he used to get from killing. Peter just wanted more of Paul. Peter/Paul


(A.N.: Man, I can't quit writing FG fic. This is my first time writing a scene like this, so I would love some reviews.)

"Why do you do it?" Paul murmured in his ear. "And remember, lying isn't allowed."

Peter started awake in the passenger seat of an old dead couple's car. "What?"

"I said, we're _here_. Did you fall asleep? I told you not to."

"Yeah." He stretched out his legs, squinting out the window. "I'm really hungry."

"Well, the sooner you go get those eggs, the sooner you can eat, Beavis." The car idled in the driveway of a house with no gate, a house a little smaller than the rest.

Peter rubbed his eyes. "Why here?"

Paul's gloved fingers tapped two at a time on the steering wheel. Pinkies, ring fingers, middle fingers, pointers, pinkies, ring fingers, middle fingers… "I dunno. Change of pace."

"No gate," Peter remarked. "They'll get out."

"Where's the fun in shooting a caged lion?"

"But why even take the chance?" Peter's eyes slid sideways to look at Paul.

"That's your problem," Paul said, pulling off one of his gloves finger by finger. "Complacency."

Peter smiled a little. "Bullshit."

Paul held up his hand, pressed his bare fingertips to the glass of the windshield and left his prints and genetic information there. Peter's smile fell. "Don't do that."

"Where's the rush, anymore? The adrenaline. The heartbeat in your ears."

"Wipe it off," Peter said angrily.

"I have a feeling," Paul said matter-of-factly, sticking his fingerprints to the doorhandle, "that we'll never get caught."

"Anyway, it's _your _turn to get the eggs." He leaned up and rubbed the pattern of oils on the window into a smear with his glove. He tried to act irritated, like this was no big deal.

"Oh yeah."

Really, Paul had been taking more risks, been less careful. Really, it sort of worried Peter.

xx

Two hours was definitely a record. Two hours, four college kids, and a yappy dog. Paul was restless. They were all dead and he hadn't made a move to leave. He paced the kitchen and Peter sat watching.

"It's like we're on a loop," Paul said suddenly, making Peter jump. "And we're just destined to do the same thing forever."

"Is that… really how you feel?" Peter asked.

Paul nodded. He needed more. More and more and more. Break the cycle. Rush.

xx

With a dead girl in the recliner across the room, with neighbors less than a quarter of a mile away, Peter sat on the couch looking up through his hair at Paul. Paul, standing, looked right back at him seriously. "I know you want this," Paul said, "so don't even try acting cute."

"I wasn't gonna," Peter muttered, his voice sounding too thick and too high in his ears.

"And don't get all girly on me."

"Okay."

"And quit slouching. You think that's en_dear_ing or something?"

"No."

"Okay. Take off your shirt."

Peter's blood felt boiling and freezing at the same time, his fingers numb. He reached over his shoulders and pulled his shirt up his back and over his head. His face flushed; he couldn't even try to look Paul in the eyes.

Paul sighed in a resigned sort of way. "God, you're disgusting."

Peter's chest clenched. "This is stupid," he said, reaching for his shirt. His voice trembled and so did his hands. His blood throbbed in his head.

Paul yanked the shirt from his hands and tossed it on the floor. "Hey, come on. Don't waste time being stupid. That last one screamed pretty loud. The cops could be on their way right now." He leaned down, bracing one knee on the couch between Peter's thighs and pressing his hands on his shoulders. "This could be the last time we see each other outside of court."

"Why would you say—?"

Paul pressed a hard kiss to his partner's mouth, eyes wrenched shut. Their teeth clicked and slid, scraped together. "Just so you know," Paul whispered, breathing into Peter's mouth, "you're the only real friend I ever had."

Peter wasn't sure if he believed that, but it was a nice sentiment. Panting in Paul's air, he felt the most wanted he had in a while. Paul dragged a hand from Peter's shoulder to his soft stomach, dug his fingers into the flesh. Peter pressed further into the couch, sucking it in. He felt an exasperating mix of humiliation and arousal. Paul chuckled, his lips vibrating against Peter's.

"Don't be embarrassed, Tubby. We're all beautiful in God's eyes." He grabbed Peter's chin with one hand, squeezing the jawbone until his mouth fell open, then pressing his mouth against Peter's. "Even though really, you're not all that hot."

"Don't call me Tubby," Peter panted. Paul lowered himself so that he was straddling Peter's lap. "I mean it, don't."

"Tubby," Paul whispered. "Tubby, Tubby, Tubby."

Peter narrowed his eyes and set his jaw, lips twitching to keep the smile off them. The smile was wiped out with a keening moan when the groin above him ground into his. Paul put his hands on Peter's shoulders, keeping the panting, whining boy at a distance.

_There are dead people in the room,_ Peter thought, but he hadn't cared about that in a long time. Blood, screaming, it meant nothing. He understood, a little, what Paul said about being on a loop.

"Tom." Paul moved his spider-fingers to the button of his partner's shorts. "You're a virgin, huh?"

"What?"

"It was a pretty straightforward question. You're a virgin with jellyrolls."

"Just—_go_," Peter snapped, frustrated. He jerked his hips up. "What does it matter?"

Paul laughed, unzipping the other's shorts. He brought a hand to his mouth and pulled off one glove with his teeth. "We'll start with the basics." Slipping his hand into the waistband of Peter's underwear, Paul gave a car salesman grin that didn't reach his eyes all the way, the same reassuring smile he gave his victims before he destroyed them. Maybe there was something to that, some deep meaning, but Peter couldn't find it. He swallowed, throat clicking as Paul's hand closed around him.

"Hnn—" Peter tensed, clenching his fists in the fabric of the couch. The hand in his shorts moved rhythmically. A high pitched sound like a dog whining came from deep in the back of his throat. This was Paul touching him, one hand on his shoulder, the other pumping in his lap. Paul, who killed without a second thought and lied as easy as he breathed, was looking intently into Peter's half-lidded eyes.

Just the thought—_this is Paul—_made his breath hitch. "P-Paul," he muttered experimentally. A quick, stiff peck on the lips was his reply, and an increased pace from the hand jerking him off. His breath came in quiet, frantic gasps, the only noises he made. He could—_god, feel—_"I'm," he said, and his mouth stretched open, hips lifted off the couch. Paul leaned in at the moment he came, kissing him roughly, forcing his tongue into the wetness of Peter's mouth. He kept his hand moving until Peter went limp on the couch, gasping around Paul's mouth.

Gradually Peter's heart rate slowed and he became aware of the mess on his stomach, and the way Paul was looking at him. Like he knew something Peter didn't—but then, he was used to that look. Paul sighed, lifted himself up and sat next to his partner.

"Do… do you want…?" Peter managed, still catching his breath. He rested a limp hand on Paul's thigh. Smiling, Paul shook his head and patted Peter's hand.

"No thanks, Tubby."

Peter wiped his stringy hair from his sweaty forehead and licked his lips. His head fell to the side as he dug into his pocket for his handkerchief. "Stop calling me that."

Paul took the handkerchief from the other boy's hand and dabbed at his sticky stomach. "We should get going. Hey." He gave Peter a push on the shoulder. "Don't fall asleep."


End file.
